She had, admittedly, not been a great packmember so far. It wasn't really her fault (yes it was), but she was a wanderer by heart, flighty and distracted. She was old enough to have some sense of responsibility, though this was mostly fueled by her curiosity for what other schmucks Merrick nabbed in his Valley with the promise of bears and freedom.

She figured that as a young pack, they'd be interested in marking their borders. She had to add her scent to the borders as well, so merged the two desires at once, trotting along the invisible line. She peed here and there, rubbing and scratching on the more prominent trees.

As she suspected, she was not alone. Though, the present company was a bit odd. A dog, of all things. The most dog-like dog she had seen in a while, all strange wiry fur and floppy ears. She snorted, unsure if he was a member of the pack. Merrick was allowing bears in, so dogs didn't seem that much of a stretch. Mornin', she greeted the foliage specked dog. Uh, I'm guessin' yer wit' us then, huh? Dogs were always a wildcard. She had met a few that naively joined packs, having dreamed of the wild all their lives behind their white-picket fences. It never seemed to end well. There was another confronting the dog, with lovely purple eyes. Is he wit us? she asked the black, clearly lupine figure.

Looking at the black-furred woman closer, she saw the swell of her stomach. It was that time of year after all — with this news in place she'd expect the summer to be a busy one indeed. The woman had not said a word, instead stepping forward to sniff at the dog's ruff. Orson, she gave her name in return. She noted how the dog had submitted to the soon-to-be mother almost immediately, then caught the tell-tale tendrils of Merrick from her. It clicked in Orson's mind. She understood.

So far as Merrick provides in return; tit-for-tat an' all. Orson shrugged. She turned her attention to the woman, inquiring. How far along are ye, miss? Ye look ready to pop, though that might be on account a how small ye are, she grinned, jesting. She was curious as to when they were expecting to feed some pups, though.

Orson let the question fall flat. She wouldn't get much answer, it seemed. The woman was mute — either physically or by some other means (the possibility of which was endless, and Orson wasn't going to get any answers. Aye, it's me name. Don't wear it out an' all that, she chuckled. The dark furred woman began to sniff around Orson, getting rather close to her. She tucked her tail in. Not only was she close to whelping, but from Fraser's display, highly ranked. Merrick's lass then? They were young for it, but worst things have happened. Where're ye from, Fraser?